Uncle Henrik's Story
by Deep Forest Green
Summary: After the war, Uncle Henrik recounts how he became involved in the Danish resistance for an oral history project. Rated T just in case. (Characters: Henrik, Peter, Lise, Annemarie)


**A/N: This is my first NoS fanfic. I was browsing the category, and I was surprised to see so few stories and none about Uncle Henrik. Henrik is my favorite character in the novel because he is just so kind and funny and wise and brave, and I think we all wish we had an uncle like him. **

* * *

My name is Henrik. I am an ordinary fisherman who has lived all my life in Gilleje, Denmark, near Sweden. However, during the war I was a member of the Danish resistance. Now that my country is free, I can finally tell my story.

I am an example of how ordinary people can become heroes. However, I never intended to become a hero. I never aspired to be anything beyond the simple man that I was, living in harmony with the sea. But extraordinary times call on ordinary people to do extraordinary things that they never thought themselves capable of.

Although I live alone, I am not a lonely man. I never had a strong desire to get married. My confidantes are my milk cow, Buttercup, and my cat, Thor. My only living relative is my sister Inge. She and her husband live in Copenhagen with their three daughters- Lise, Annemarie, and Kirsten. Having no children of my own, I loved all my nieces dearly. But though I would never admit it, the oldest, Lise, was always my favorite. She was the only one that I could really talk to about anything significant. She loved philosophy and nature and had great faith in humanity; like me, she was an incurable optimist. Perhaps too much so for her own good.

In 1940, when the Nazis occupied Denmark, Lise was engaged to a man named Peter Nielsen. However, just a few weeks before the wedding was scheduled, Lise was killed in a car crash. When I heard the news, I was devastated as if my own daughter had died. I stopped coming to Copenhagen. I couldn't face my sister anymore, couldn't handle her grief. I tried to find peace out on the sea, sometimes floating out in the open water for hours in the cold and dark. But as hard as I tried, I just couldn't make peace with what had happened.

In the spring of 1942, a young man showed up on my doorstep. I recognized him immediately as Peter, having met him once before at Lise's engagement party. At first- and I am quite ashamed of this now- I refused to speak to him. You see, I blamed him for Lise's death. As soon as he told me that he was in the Resistance, and that Lise had been too, I knew that that car crash had been no accident. He as good as admitted it. I knew the Nazis had killed her and that he had let it happen and run away like a coward. I hated him for being alive when my precious niece was dead. So I showed him the door.

"Henrik- " we were on a first-name basis because of Inge- "why do you think I have risked my life by telling you who I am and what I do? Why do I trust you enough to put my life in your hands?"

"I don't know," I said honestly. "For all you know, I could be one of them. I could be a Nazi spy; they could have gotten to me."

"Inge tells me that you are a good man," Peter said.

I sensed that he wanted something. "I like to think so," I replied cautiously.

"You are like her. Like Lise. Like Papa."

"What are you getting at?"

"Something which you are well equipped to provide. Something which may become vitally necessary to the success of our future efforts."

"What future efforts? What are you talking about?"

"Can I trust you? Was Inge right about you?"

"For God's sake, Peter, out with it!"

"Henrik," he said slowly, "do you know Inge's friends the Rosens?"

"Yes," I replied, remembering. I had met them a few times in Copenhagen; Annemarie and Ellen seemed especially close.

"The Rosens will be in danger, Henrik. In the other countries, the Nazis have already started rounding up Jews in the cities and sending them off to concentration camps. We don't know how soon it will begin here, but we need to be ready to get them to Sweden where they will be safe. We need the help of fishermen who live in this area, who can take them across in their boats."

"That sounds dangerous," I said warily.

"It is. Very." Peter nodded gravely. "You must be willing to risk your life. Your sister and brother-in-law are already prepared to risk theirs should the need arise." Here he gulped. "You understand that if you are caught, they won't just kill you. They'll torture you, try to get you to tell them everything you know about the Resistance. That is why I cannot tell you any more. The only names you know are me, your sister and brother-in-law, and Lise; but Lise's dead." He paused again. "You won't be able to resist their torture, Henrik. Nobody can. They have scientists who have devised the most brutal torture techniques ever invented. That is why you will need to carry a cyanide pill, like I do. Here. I always keep an extra in my coat pocket." He reaches into his coat and pulls out a pinkish capsule, holding it out to me.

"Wait a minute, Peter. I haven't agreed to anything yet. How do you know that the Rosens will be in danger? And if they are, isn't it easier to get them out now instead of waiting for more soldiers to come out here?"

"We want to take them all at once," said Peter. "Some of the Jews in Copenhagen still don't believe the warnings. We're afraid that leaving too early could tip off the Germans. In the meantime, you need to build a secret compartment hidden underneath the deck of your boat. Make it as big as you possibly can."

"And what if their dogs smell human scent underneath the deck?"

"We're working on it, Henrik. I took the matter to some Swedish scientists and they are trying as fast as they can to discover a solution. Hopefully they can come up with a way to temporarily destroy the dogs' sense of smell for long enough for the Nazis to search the boat and leave."

"It still sounds awfully risky," I said.

"Lise would want you to do this," he said. "She always told me such wonderful things about how kind and caring you were. You were her favorite uncle."

"I was her only uncle," I said.

"Please, Henrik. If you won't do it for me, do it for Lise, or for your sister, or for the Jews, or because it's the right thing to do. Take your pick; I don't really care about the reason, as long as you do it." He stuffed his hands in his pockets in resignation and turned to step back out into the cold night.

"I'll do it," I said suddenly.

"Really?" he asked, turning around, though he didn't really seem surprised. "Which reason did you pick?"

"All of the above. Oh, and I'll be needing that cyanide pill after all."

* * *

I built the secret compartment like Peter said. All I had to do was hollow out the back and put boards in between to conceal the bottom section. It was hard work, but I was used to that kind of labor and found it satisfying and comforting. It felt good to be doing something besides fishing and milking cows, something that might actually help people one day.

Meanwhile, Peter visited me every month, and I grew to truly care for the young man. Perhaps it was out of respect for his bravery, or because he had loved Lise so much and the very mention of her brought tears to his pale blue eyes. He brought me the underground newspaper, the Free Dane, but after a few issues I stopped reading it. I would burn it as soon as he left. I found that I didn't want to know what was happening; it was too discouraging. I knew it was wrong to turn a blind eye to the world like that, especially when Peter was risking his life to bring it to me, but I couldn't help it. Reading about victory after victory for the Nazis, I saw that the day for the Jews to escape Copenhagen was drawing very near indeed. I found that I was braver if I did not know everything.

In October 1943, I got the call from Copenhagen. It was Inge. She told me- in coded language, of course- that the Rosens were in her apartment and that the Nazis were already suspicious of them. It was time for her to take them to Gilleje. I told her that the coast was clear- or at least as clear as it was ever going to be. Frantically, I began to prepare. Peter did not know how many Jews he was going to bring to my house. He told me to make up a story about a relative who had died, and I chose the first name that came to my mind: Great-Aunt Birte.

My middle niece Annemarie had grown up remarkably since I had last seen her. She reminded me so much of Lise at that age, only with more energy. Like Lise, she was very intelligent and managed to figure out that Great-Aunt Birte was only a ruse. Somewhat reluctantly, I told her the truth. But believe me, I never would have asked her to risk her life.

* * *

When we got to the boat, it was nearly dawn. I asked Mr. Rosen to give me the packet. He reached into his pocket but found that it wasn't there. We both panicked. If someone didn't find the missing packet soon, we were all dead.

Everyone would have been frantic if we had told them. But we didn't because we didn't want them to look around for it. We needed them inside the secret compartment. I watched the brightening sky impatiently, hoping, waiting, praying for a miracle.

Suddenly I heard panting on the path in the woods. It was Annemarie, her long legs flailing, carrying a basket full of food. I knew that I had been right about her. She had been brave after all.

I sent Annemarie on her way and it was almost time to go. Just as I was about to set sail, a group of Nazis stopped me and boarded the boat. I laughed the jolliest laugh that I could muster that early in the morning- luckily- I had always been a morning person- and welcomed them aboard.

"Excuse me for my bad head cold," I said jovially, sniffling a bit and drawing the handkerchief, which the dogs went for immediately. "Being out on the sea at this time of day at this time of year, seven days a week- it's great for the mental health, but not so great for the sinuses."

"Why are the dogs sniffing your handkerchief?" the soldier demanded.

"Ah, well, I use my handkerchiefs as napkins sometimes when I'm cleaning my fish. Not such a great idea, huh?" I laughed. "Here, let me show you around."

I took them below deck, silently praying that the Jews wouldn't make a sound, that Peter had drugged the baby enough. We were right next to them, separated only by a wall. I wondered if the Jews could see them, hear them, smell them. I showed the soldiers my nets and rigging equipment and emergency medical equipment and food supply.

"There is another compartment in your ship," said one soldier suddenly, and I froze. "What does it contain?"

"Fish, of course," I said. "Lots and lots of fish."

"May we see them?"

"Sure, but let me tell you, they're not very pleasant to be around," I said, leading them back up the trapdoor. "Most people can't stand the smell unless they're used to it, like I am."

This was the moment when I opened the door to where all the Jews were hiding.

"See?" I said, gesturing. "Lots and lots of fish."

It was maybe one or two layers of fish. But it was enough to fool the soldiers. My catch would be severely depleted today, because I would simply have nowhere to put the fish. But it was worth it.

* * *

It was late afternoon or early evening when we arrived in Sweden. The sun had passed from one end to the other of the sky. I docked the ship in their harbor and found the man who was waiting to take these Jews to their new homes.

"Mr.- "

"Please, call me Henrik," I said.

"Henrik," said Mr. Rosen nervously as he got out of the hidden compartment, "I can't thank you enough for what you did for my family and for all of us. None of us can. You risked your life, and you didn't even know us. We owe you a debt we cannot repay, but if the state of Israel ever becomes a reality, I will make sure that you are on the list of Righteous Gentiles, as well as the Johansens."

"Get off the boat, Mr. Rosen," I said kindly, taking him by the shoulder. "You must be terribly seasick. Thank you for your kind words, but the Johansens and Peter are the real heroes here. I wish I could tell you the names of everyone who helped you escape to freedom, but I can't because I don't know them myself."

"Ellen," said Sophy, turning to her daughter, "what do you say to Uncle Henrik?"

"Will I ever see Annemarie again?"

"Of course you will, Ellen. When the war is over. She was very brave, you know. You heard her."

"I want you to stay with us in Sweden," she said.

"Me too, Ellen," I said, embracing her. "But there is still much more work to be done."

"I wish you were my uncle," Ellen said sadly.

"That would be nice, Ellen," I said, stroking her hair.

"You know, Henrik, you don't have to keep doing this," said Mr. Rosen. "You can quit any time you want. No one would blame you. It's only a matter of time before the Nazis find out how the Jews are escaping, and they won't show you any mercy just because you're not one of us."

"I know, Mr. Rosen," I said. "That is a risk I chose to take once. I will choose to take it again until either I am no longer able or it is no longer necessary."

Sophy Rosen kissed me on the cheek as she left the boat with her husband. "Have a happy belated Rosh Hashanah, Henrik," she said.

I smiled and waved at her. "And you have an early merry Christmas."

* * *

The war ended in 1945. I've never considered myself especially patriotic, but even I was filled with love and pride for my country on that day. I came to Copenhagen for the first time since the war began to visit my sister and her family.

It was when I asked to see Peter that their faces fell and I knew that this day had not been all joy.

I never really talked to the other fishermen who lived in Gilleje, so Peter Nielsen was basically my only friend. I asked if they had already had the funeral and if I could go or send my condolences for the young man who should have been my nephew-in-law. They said that there hadn't been a funeral and that there would never be one, because they didn't even know where he had been buried. I knew then that I had to spend the day at Ryvangen Square, when everyone else was celebrating in Tivoli Gardens.

The square was silent and empty. I had bought flowers, as many as I could afford. If I laid down one on each of the unmarked graves, row after row, chances are that one would reach Peter and one would reach Lise.

That evening, I came to Inge's apartment to spend the night. I had received Annemarie's letter, written the day after the Nazis had left Denmark, and I had something to give her. It was a special present. She had asked me to keep it for her during the war. I did so gladly.

"Annemarie," I whispered, pressing the golden necklace into her palm, "close your eyes."

She smiled. "I know what it is," she said smugly. "I can feel the points of the Star of David. They're cutting into my skin."

"Shh," I said teasingly. "You wouldn't want your friend Ellen to find out."

She opened her eyes and embraced me. "Henrik, how did you manage to keep it hidden?" she asked me.

"Remember Kirsti's old fish scale shoes? Even after they were painted black, she still hated the way they felt on her feet. So she left them with me and in exchange, I gave her a wooden pair that I carved myself. Fish shoes prove a remarkably good hiding place."

* * *

_**September 1939**_

_"The Nazis have invaded Poland, Uncle Henrik," said Lise, her seventeen-year-old toes dangling in the icy water. Even though it was still technically summer, the sea was much to cold for dipping one's toes in. I couldn't help but sit in awe of her serenity and fearlessness. _

_"I know," I said, sifting through the basket of my day's catch and gutting the best fish for supper. _

_"Don't you think King Christian should do something about it?" _

_I laughed drily. "We barely have an army, Lise. The King will have enough trouble defending his own country." _

_"They say Denmark will be invaded soon. Maybe next year."_

_"Do you think we should flee the country then? Move to Sweden?" _

_"No. That would be wrong. What about all the people who can't afford to move, or who want to stay with their families? Someone needs to be there to help them." _

_"That is very true, Lise. Very true." _

_"I just wish there was something I could do about it," she said sadly. "I feel so helpless. What can one person, especially a young woman, do about something so big? I'm afraid for our friends, the Rosens. I'm afraid for everyone." _

_"If you are afraid for someone else, Lise, that is the best kind of fear. It is the fear that prompts us to act selflessly, the fear that turns into courage. My advice to you is to embrace that fear. And know you're not alone. Even when it seems like you are, there are others out there who are thinking and doing the same things that you are thinking and doing." _

_"Like Peter," she said wistfully._

_I nearly dropped my knife onto my lap. "Like who?"_

_"I think I'm in love with him, uncle," she said softly. "He asked me to marry me, and I said yes." _

_"You did wha- "_

_"Shh, uncle! It's not official yet. We want to get married as soon as possible, before the war gets here." _

_"Lise, you're too young to get married," I told her. _

_"Mama was eighteen when she married Papa," Lise said. _

_"Well, the fisherman's life isn't for everyone," I said teasingly. "I can't see you as the kind of wife who would bring her husband baskets of food every day and bother him to clean the house." _

_"Peter wouldn't be the kind of husband who would ask me to do that. He's educated and well off."_

_"What does he do?"_

_"Well, he's a student now, but he wants to be- " her voice broke off._

_"What does he want to be?" _

_"I don't know. A teacher or lawyer or something like that." She shrugged carelessly. _

_"Well, I suppose sometimes the apple does fall far from the tree after all," I said._

_"Let's go inside," she said, rising abruptly and shaking off her toes. "It's freezing out here." _

_"Good," I said, putting the last fish back into the basket. "I'm glad you noticed." _


End file.
